


Carnations

by TinyGryphon



Category: Psychonauts (Video Games)
Genre: Light Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 17:49:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17472149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinyGryphon/pseuds/TinyGryphon
Summary: Sasha takes a short reprieve from work to visit an old, lonely place he usually only sees in the dark recesses of his mind... only to find he isn't quite as alone as he thought.





	Carnations

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written in response to the prompt 'Longing'
> 
> Carnations can be used to signify both a mother's love and an unrequited love/affection... in Germany they are also a symbol of mourning.

Had the sky not been blotted out with dismal foggy rain-clouds, the sunset would have been illuminating the small village with rays of orange, red and pink as the young man made his way through the abandoned streets. While the clouds remained overhead however, dimming the increasingly darkening world, the rain had momentarily stopped and he was wasting no time in waiting for the showers to return.

He gently pried the rusted lock open and shifted the large iron gate forward enough to let himself through the fence and into the grassy area beyond. The small bouquet of ruffled white carnations, carefully tucked in the crook of his arm, rustled softly at the movement and he paused to brush a touch of their dampness off his thick sleeve with his free hand. He glanced ahead, his face as blank and unchanging as the dome of grey above, and quietly moved towards his goal, his perfectly polished shoes squeaking softly as they moved through the wet grass.

His steps slowed as he approached it, and his eyes closed with reluctance, as he reached the long, flat rectangle of undisturbed soil. It took a moment for him to gather himself enough to re-open his eyes and glance down at the sad, chiselled stone, beside which sat a plain, worn vase, which bore a few heavily wilted blooms.

He bent with reverent silence, crouching beside the hallowed ground and carefully lifted the dying flowers from their vase and gently replaced them with his own. He knelt, arranging the new flowers with great care, before glancing down and squeezing his eyes shut a second time, swallowing the pain rising in his throat.

A slight sighing sound of dew falling from disturbed wet grass came from behind him, growing closer. He remained crouching and waited, unsurprised, as the sound came to a stop behind him. Slowly he raised his eyes from the sad grey stone, and glanced over his shoulder at the newcomer.

Another man now stood with him, tall and broad shouldered with tired, sorrowful eyes resting behind wire-rimmed glasses. A breathless silence hung between them as they regarded each other, regarded the squareness of each other’s jaw, the dark brown eyes they both shared, hidden behind equally matching eye-wear. The older man’s gaze moved to rest upon the ever-present vase and the pale, ruffled flowers. His brow furrowed slightly and the young man glanced away, uncomfortable and ashamed.

‘I wasn’t sure what flowers she liked.’ He muttered softly as he awkwardly returned to his feet, brushing the dirt from his hands and trousers. ‘The store recommended carnations. For mothers.’

There was a pause as the older man let out a long low sigh, and relaxed his frown. He nodded thoughtfully, his eyes still focused on the cold, damp ground and he raised a single hand to gently rest upon his son’s shoulder. The younger man tensed slightly at the singularly rare contact, but remained within reach of the larger man’s wrinkled, well-worn hand.

‘She would like them.’ The larger man grunted, and his hand gave the shoulder a hesitant pat. ‘They came from you.’

There was another awkward, painful silence between them and the younger man carefully shrugged off his father’s hand and fumbled in his jacket pocket for a cigarette, glancing up at the grizzled sky as he lit it, as though it offered him comfort. The other man’s eyes fell upon the glowing cigarette as it was raised to thin, pale lips, and he shook his head hopelessly, the corners of his mouth twisting into a disapproving grimace.

‘She would not like that you smoke.’

The young man took a long drag, and exhaled slowly, the twisting smoke faintly visible in the last light of day, before he turned his head to face his father, and tilted it slightly to the side with an empty curiosity.

‘What would she like?’

The father hesitated and remained silent, his brow creasing once more as he glanced down at the solemn grave beside them, but the son, reluctant to let the chance to know pass him by, asked again.

‘What _was_ she like?’


End file.
